The Shakespeare Notebooks

by Justin Richards

  A cloud of hunger, seeking something fresh.

  A dread thought chills my heart. Between ourselves,

  There is no fate discernible to me.

  Except a silence in the library.

  Sonnet 116

  Let me not to the marriage of true minds

  Admit impediments. Love can rise fast

  When Vardans and rough beasts of other kinds

  Suggest that ev’ry moment is your last.

  But true love is a fix’d co-ordinate

  Measured from Galactic zero centre.

  From one firm course it does not deviate

  Well, that’s the view of your erstwhile mentor.

  Love’s not Time’s fool, though husbands of this sort

  Will not keep the same face from year to year.

  The life of Sevateem might seem too short

  Compared with those of Gallifrey, I fear.

  If this be error, then it must be mine.

  So pay no heed, and instead, ask K-9.

  Sonnet 123

  No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:

  The pyramid that forms my prison here

  To me is nothing novel, nothing strange.

  Millennia immobile on this bier

  Have clarified my mind and cooled my blood

  With but a single thought: Where’er I tread

  I leave dust and darkness. I find that good.

  My brother Horus left me here for dead;

  But far from dead, as death would be too sweet.

  The vengeance of Osiris was too cold

  To offer better terms for my defeat.

  And thus I sit and wait as stars grow old.

  But this I vow and this shall ever be;

  All life – fish, fowl, reptile – is foe to me.

  * * *

  Danger knows full well, the Doctor is more dangerous than he.

  * * *

  AS YOU LIKE IT

  This transcript from an early seventeenth-century staging of the play differs considerably from all known sources of the text. There are obvious similarities, so the diversion may have been unique to this performance, perhaps an extreme example of improvisation by the actors involved.

  Duke Senior has been usurped by his brother, Frederick, and banished from the court to the Forest of Arden. Among his fellow exiles is the melancholy Jaques. And they are not the only party obliged to make a new home in the wilderness.

  JAQUES

  A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’ the forest,

  A motley fool; a miserable world!

  As I do live by food, I met a fool

  Who roved from grove to grove, as if in search

  Of quarry lost upon those verdant grounds;

  Some prize he thought to snatch from out the air.

  “Good morrow, fool,” quoth I. “O, sir,” quoth he,

  “Has’t seen a press abandoned in these woods?”

  And then he drew a dial from his poke,

  And, looking on it with severest eye,

  Says very wisely, “I set up the HADS

  To move the girl upon this very plot.

  Methinks the course co-ordinates hath slipped

  And sent her to a place that I know not.

  And so from hour to hour she drifts and drifts

  And I from place to place must make pursuit.

  And thereby hangs a tale.” When I did hear

  The motley fool thus moral on the time,

  My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,

  That fools should be so deep-contemplative,

  And I did laugh sans intermission

  An hour by his dial. O noble fool!

  A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.

  DUKE SENIOR

  What fool is this?

  JAQUES

  O worthy fool! One that hath been a lord,

  And speaks of grave disruptions in the sky.

  Strange tales of wounds within the walls of time.

  And signs unread in any almanac.

  I wonder’d at his humour: in his brain,

  Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit

  After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm’d

  With observation, the which he vents

  In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!

  I am ambitious for a motley coat.

  DUKE SENIOR

  Thou shalt have one.

  JAQUES

  It is my only suit. A coat composed

  Of hues that would perforce to boil

  The jelly in thy orisons.

  A dial within my poke that sings

  Like crickets sealed within a stoup of wine.

  And liberty to roam where’er I please,

  Discourse cosmology unto the trees.

  Invest me in my motley; give me leave

  To speak my mind, and I will through and through

  Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,

  If they will patiently receive my medicine.

  IN ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST

  Enter PERPUGILLIAM, with a paper, reading

  PERPUGILLIAM

  From Dunsinane to Windsor town,

  No jewel is like Peri Brown.

  Her worth, like pearls set in a crown,

  Processes forth as Peri Brown.

  Let no man curse or wear a frown

  Within the orbit of Miss Brown.

  The shipwrecked sailor, though he drown,

  Dies glad with thoughts of Peri Brown.

  CLOWN

  Glad? Glad? Glad? I never heard so egregious a verse. A paper bearing execrable work has only one fit function. I shall not elaborate.

  PERPUGILLIAM

  Out, fool!

  CLOWN

  For a taste:

  She looks alluring in a gown

  But leotards love Peri Brown.

  Each adjective must have its noun:

  So loud and shrewish go with Brown.

  She runs, she screams, and then falls down

  And so do all with Peri Brown.

  She flies through space, she’s been around

  O by my stars! ’Tis Peri Brown.

  This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect yourself with them?

  PERPUGILLIAM

  Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.

  CLOWN

  Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

  PERPUGILLIAM

  Who is’t that put these apples on the bough? These purple lines on little squares of blue, that deck the branches here in Arden’s wood? Can’st not be a lover, for ’pon our travels in the void the ones who lavish me with their amours are seldom men one could take home to court. Rather, they creak’st in piebald leather, or sit enthroned in darkness, wetlipped, observing me upon the glass.

  CLOWN

  You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.

  PERPUGILLIAM

  O, here’s another. Stand aside.

  CLOWN

  Too late, I have it.

  [Reads] Why dwell we in this desert here?

  Have we betrayed our mistress? No:

  From our true course we did not veer

  And yet we are maroonèd so

  Upon some bank of time beyond the trees.

  We sees’t thou, as sparrow spies the crop;

  But, borne like thistledown upon the breeze,

  We mount the wind, and sail its giddy top.

  O Perpugilliam, in Arden’s maw

  Draw down thy helpless servant from the skies.

  A sight funereal as e’er thee saw

  Is high above you, hidden from thine eyes.

  A friend enshrouded in the veils of space

  That longs for harbour in another place.

  But here we must remain in bondage aerie,

  Until we once again find sight of Peri.

  PERPUGILLIAM

  I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras’ time, that I was a Varosian parrot, which I can hardly r
emember.

  CLOWN

  Trow you who hath done this?

  PERPUGILLIAM

  Is it a man?

  CLOWN

  More than a man.

  PERPUGILLIAM

  I prithee, who?

  CLOWN

  Is it possible?

  PERPUGILLIAM

  Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.

  CLOWN

  Our home, our berth, our star-crossed ship of time.

  PERPUGILLIAM

  O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful!

  And yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping!

  CLOWN

  Received with thanks. Now take this in thy hand.

  PERPUGILLIAM

  What is’t?

  CLOWN

  It filters feedback on the sub-etheric band

  And sends a signal soaring through the spheres.

  O, list. It is the TARDIS. She appears.

  A great wheezing and groaning, below. Exeunt.

  * * *

  ’Tis now the very witching time of night, when things get really exciting and dangerous.

  * * *

  DOUBLE FALSEHOOD

  Drawn together from a variety of sources, the materials reproduced here pertain to Double Falsehood – which purported to be a version of Shakespeare’s play Cardenio. Unfortunately the only source for the final newspaper article is incomplete in the British Library.

  Readers are invited to draw their own conclusions as to the veracity of the text.

  ALEXANDER POPE’S DIARY

  14th Dec, 1727

  Saw “Double Falsehood” (aptly called) lst nght, put on by the wretched Tibbald. Claims to be an adaptation of Shakespear’s “Cardenio”, but an obvious forgery. The graveyard turf of Stratford must be churned up with shame.

  THE COFFEE CHAT NEWSPAPER

  January, 1728

  Happening to come across Mr Theobald, late of the success of “Double Falsehood”, I was able to corner him about his play, which he claims to be from the pen of Shakespeare.

  “Oh it is, it is,” he vowed, colouring. “The only claims against it rise from Mr Pope, who slights against it regularly. His raillery is boundless.”

  Boundless? Are not some of the lines perhaps a little less than the Bard would grant?

  “Well, that they are, if so they were. But Mr Pope wilfully misquotes them to make them nonsense.”

  Why would he do such a thing?

  “Revenge.” Mr Theobald colours still further. “He took against my few friendly critical notes on his edition of Hamlet.”

  Ah yes. Mr Theobald refers to the 200 closely printed pages of criticism he published, which caused Mr Pope to fly into a fury. Is it not true that Mr Theobald plans his own edition of Shakespeare?

  “Indeed.” the author puffs himself up, “And it will most certainly contain Cardenio.”

  But how did the missing play come into his hands?

  “I have three manuscripts for the play, actually. My adaptation uses material from all of them, but the original work is perhaps better read than performed. Hence my mild modern adaptation to the current sensibility.”

  So, it seems Mr Theobald is keeping not one, but three copies of “Cardenio” close to his chest. Until then, we must attend Drury Lane and try and glimpse the Bard through the noble Theobald’s shards.

  THE HISTORY OF CARDENNA

  Sir, I went along last night in order to take down a shorthand report of the play for printing, but alas, afterwards found my notes had been corrupted by the speech of the playgoers sat next to me. I can attend the next performance, if you’ll pay extra?

  HENRIQUEZ

  She weeps, be gentle to her good Barnardo.

  LEONORA

  Then woe the day! I’m circled round with fire.

  No way to escape but through the flames.

  THEOBALD

  Oh, raptures!

  POPE

  Pah!

  DOCTOR

  Shaddup Alex and eat your popcorn.

  POPE

  Sit through more of this, Doctor? I’d sooner eat spoons.

  THEOBALD

  But it’s just how I’d imagined it, Mr Pope.

  POPE

  You, Theobald? An imagination!

  DOCTOR

  Someone is not getting his share of Vienetta on the journey home.

  DON BERNARD

  Camillo, pocket up your indignation

  And attend the truth of your fair daughter.

  POPE

  Can I get some more wine? I’ve finished this glass. Actually, just pass me the bottle.

  THEOBALD

  Actually, could I have a drop –

  POPE

  No!

  DOCTOR

  Some people. I dunno. I bring the two of you back in time to see Shakespeare’s “Cardenio”. Some people would be grateful.

  THEOBALD

  I am, I truly am!

  POPE

  Course he is. The idiot would be happy licking a salt stick.

  THEOBALD

  Hey!

  POPE

  What a wasted opportunity. We could have attended the first night of “Hamlet” to resolve what was the proper text.

  THEOBALD

  Like you’d know what that was if it bit you, you tiny fraud.

  DOCTOR

  And it’s all the Viennetta for me.

  CITIZEN

  Though that a thousand daggers barred my way

  I’d dare em all to serve you.

  POPE

  Mr Theobald, I owe you an apology when I accused you of forging this play.

  THEOBALD

  I humbly accept it, Mr Pope.

  POPE

  Accusing anyone of writing this nonsense is a vile insult.

  They fight.

  DOCTOR

  Fellows, fellows, stop scrapping and hush. Can’t you see the chap next to us? He’s pirating the performance.

  THEOBALD

  For publication?

  DOCTOR

  Yes. Shush.

  POPE

  But there’s no such pamphlet.

  DOCTOR

  Of course not. You’re talking all through it. You’re ruining the transcript. Hello, sorry about my friends. They’re really very nice. Terrible taste in clothes and are you taking down every word I say? Oh yes, I see you are. I’ll shut up now. This is really very distracting for you, isn’t it? No, honestly, shutting up. Zip. Shtum.

  JULIO

  Poor Leonora! Wretched, damned Henriquez,

  She bids me fill my memory with danger.

  POPE

  Eleven syllables? I’ve seen more ordered poesy in a sailor’s brawl.

  THEOBALD

  Like there are docks in Twickenham, toad. Ow!

  POPE

  I’ve another finger to poke your other eye. There’s plenty more where that came from.

  THEOBALD

  You’re doing this deliberately, aren’t you? Now you’ve realised that the fellow next to us is taking down the playscript, you’re doing what you can to thwart his transcript so that “Cardenio” doesn’t survive.

  POPE

  What if I am? If a printed text already survived, how could you then claim to rediscover the play? What would you base your meagre fortunes on then?

  THEOBALD

  I would just be happy for the world. Shakespeare belongs to the generations.

  POPE

  Hah! You’re just after a fat editor’s fee for your Complete Works.

  DOCTOR

  Ladies, hush now, or you’re walking back to the 1730s.

  POPE

  But we’re getting to the good bit.

  DOCTOR

  Oh, so you’re enjoying it now, are you?

  POPE

  Yes. It’s the worst line of Tibbald’s entire forgery.

  THEOBALD

  It is not a forgery. I’ve shown through minute analysis how such
a line –

  POPE

  “None but itself can be its parallel

  And by such a friend profess’d”? As if Shakespeare would bother with such bumfodder.

  JULIO

  Is there a treachery like this in baseness?

  None but itself can be its parallel

  And by such a friend profess’d!

  POPE

  Oh.

  THEOBALD

  See? I was right. You owe me an apology.

  POPE

  Doctor?

  DOCTOR

  Hmm?

  POPE

  Why is your transcriber friend looking at us so strangely?

  THEOBALD

  Is it because it’s the first night?

  DOCTOR

  Oh, oh dear. Helloooo – would you mind ignoring us and just concentrating on the historical first night of “Cardenio”?

  There’s a slice of Vienetta in it for you.

  THEOBALD

  I think you owe me an apology.

  POPE

  Whatever for, my dear sir?

  THEOBALD

  You told all London this play was forged by me. You had the performances catcalled, my edition of Shakespeare cancelled. Because of you I live in poverty.

  POPE

  My good fellow, I did nothing of the sort. I may have dropped the tiniest of hints at the coffee house. That is all. You really are being over-sensitive.

  THEOBALD

  You owe it not just to me, but to literature to recant. If you support me, then I can publish the three manuscripts of “Cardenio” I have –

  POPE

  Three, you say?

  THEOBALD

  Aye. Stored at the Covent Garden Theatre. So, anyway, if you were to –

  POPE

  Yes, yes, of course. I’ll absolutely apologise. More than that, my dear sir, I’ll dedicate my next poem to you.

  THEOBALD

  I misjudged you.

  POPE

  And I you. The least I can do is to afford this play the attention it deserves. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I just need to visit the close-stool.

  JULIO

  Hold out thy faith against the dread assault

  Of this false lord.

  DOCTOR

  Where’s he gone?

  THEOBALD

  The jakes.

  DOCTOR

  Really? That’s funny, he bumped into me as he – wait, the key! The key to my ship is gone. The little tinker, he’s clearing up the Vienetta.